Either I'm Drunk, Or You're Hot
by figleaf
Summary: Ian wants to dance with Anthony at a club despite his fear that others might judge him. Ianthony set through Ian's perspective.


Pounding music. Loud. Thick air, almost suffocating, but for some strange reason, irresistible.

Bodies everywhere, pressed together, the air thick with a heavy blanket of heat, sweat, and alcohol. Nothing matters except the beat pounding through their bodies like an avalanche, fueled by the poisons that alter your perception, making anything possible.

Even the unthinkable.

What is social acceptance but something to hold you back? It's nothing more than ropes and chains, binding you from what your mind craves, what your body reacts to without thought, but it's what you cower behind because of the pain brought on by recognition as a normal member of society without flaws.

In this place however, the mind is numb. Normal thought is disrupted, replaced by more carnal desires.

Lust.

Want.

Pleasure.

It comes in waves, coursing through your blood, more intoxicating than the alcohol itself, leaving you with a sense of triumph over societal views.

Fuck it.

The target is among the sea of bodies, vibrations hum in your ears and an explosion of color bursts through artificial projections, lighting up what you desire.

The only path leads you to him, though not entirely the only path. Just the one you want to believe is there.

Force, resistance, your senses overwhelming you while you struggle to reach him. Mere obstacles you undertake for the greater reward that lay ahead.

Then finally. Finally, out of your callous efforts you're rewarded with what you so desperately desire. But even a mere glance or touch would be an acceptable prize.

"Hey."

The sound is beaten down to nothing leaving but a shadowed lip movement, but nevertheless the message comes across clearly, causing an upturn to the lips.

Movement. More people. Too many or not enough?

You decide on the latter, because more means closeness. More means a better chance at an accidental brush of the shoulder, or a hand coming in contact with an unattended arm.

Thickness. A dark, but enticing aura swirls around the two.

The need is there, the crave, but fear is still lurking, still holding you back.

Powerful, yet helpless.

Close but limited.

The mind forged manacles on the other side have all but been eliminated however when two hands dare to surpass the barrier onto your hips.

Dark chocolate eyes, clouded, yet clear on their intentions. The copper fuel only adds to the fire burning within.

The feeling growing as those around you, those in their own worlds crowd you closer, unknowingly.

You dare to be like the other, to push against the door he broke through as well, and you finally break it open and find him waiting for you on the outside.

Your hands press themselves to his body, and you dare to go further than he, pulling him closer.

The impact is sudden and the feeling is unlike no other, but the rhythm is like a drug, forcing you to accept it and continue without fear.

For every move you dare make in defiance, he takes on as a challenge to further it.

One more step.

Arms slink around your body.

Your move.

You do the same, but with a thrust.

His now.

It takes you on by surprise, forcing your blood to rush from your face down to the growing ache below.

A cheek next to yours, soft, yet with a prickly roughness. A vaporous heat breathes past the relentless sound, finding its way to your ear.

"Either I'm drunk or you're hot."

The words are immediately followed by an action.

He breaks the rules of the game, but you don't care. You're getting more than what you first anticipated when his lips touch your neck, pressing, feeling a place they've never explored.

You make it your move now as the fire inside you ignites brighter than the sun. Your body takes control, thrusting your swelling ache into his causing a moan to escape his lips into your ear.

The sweat dampens your clothes as they stick to your skin, but less than a care is given because he is your focal point. The core of your ache intensifies, as do his movements against your neck. A hot, slick feeling, followed by a cooling as his breath runs over the trail left by his tongue.

Your lips can't take it however. The craving is there, left unfulfilled so you attempt to satisfy your desire.

A hand runs through the damp, yet soft, citrusy hair, lightly pulling him away from his task, forfeiting his initial move. Faces now within each other, your azure eyes are a reflection in his hazel.

A split second passes, foreheads pressed, ruffled brown fringe against an _emo_ flap.

Another split second. Eyes dart from each other to starving lips.

One more.

The collision. Faster than you can think, faster than you can breathe.

His taste overwhelms you. Fruit, dulled with the singe of alcohol.

His feel overtakes your movements.

A slinking arm greedily feels what was never allowed to be touched, what it never dared to touch and drops further and further down to the buildup restrained by the denim of your jeans.

A welcomed invasion is transpiring as slick tongues battle for dominance, arms press each body closer, hips thrust roughly against each other, forcing a need for release.

The want is unbearable now, but you're torn between two paths; the one you're on, or the other, an exit to a more open area without the restrictions you face now.

Then the fear returns as the options are weighed. Fears of realization, fears of rejection, fears of judgment.

Fuck it.

You threw those fears away when your powder blue eyes first saw him, so you make for the finish with the intention of winning.

You are in control as your hand makes a grab for his. You lead him on your path to the door and you both push together.

The stares and the whispers no longer matter.

They never did.

You don't turn back and neither does he.


End file.
